Dark Choir Page 13

  The funeral was at two. The time now was twenty to two. He wasn’t going. He was running out on this charade and fuck the consequences.

  Dan strode uphill and entered The Lamb. It was quiet as expected for a Tuesday afternoon. He sat on one of the tall stools on the bar and nodded to Brian, the bar man.

  “I’ll have a Stella with a whiskey chaser. Make it a double.”

  “Right,” said Brian. He turned to the whiskey tap and filled a glass. “Your mother’s funeral today, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Has it just finished?”

  “Just about to start. Thing is, Brian, I don’t think I can stand to see that smug bastard Widdowson.”

  “Don’t blame you. He’s a slimy shit. Four fifty.”

  Brian made himself busy and Dan watched the screen absently. There was some police chase series on. The only other guy in the pub was an older man with a beard that sat in the corner staring at his pint as if it were about to say something. He didn’t have another pint, but he downed three more whiskeys. The alcohol burned into his system and he felt pleasantly uncaring towards the whole situation.

  The door opened and the clack of high heels hit the bare floorboards of the pub. Shit. She’d found him.

  “I suppose you’ve come here to give me a bollocking,” he drawled, finishing the pint.

  “I know better than that, Mr. Hepworth.” The voice was Alison’s. She took the bar stool beside him, sliding onto it gracefully and nodded to Brian. “Two more whiskeys. I assume they’re doubles.”

  He relaxed. Maybe Alison could miss the funeral too and they could just get pissed together. Get pissed together and kiss then go to bed. But there was Lindsey to think about, and Bev of course.

  “Has she sent you to fetch me?”

  “No, Dan. She thinks you’re having trouble parking.” Alison put the glass to her lips, leaving a red lipstick smear. “I’ve come to fetch you.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You should. Not for your mother, but to show Widdowson you’re not scared.”

  Dan raised his eyebrows.

  “Widdowson will be painting you as the wayward son. The one who ran away and left his sister and mother. That’s how he persuaded her to sign the house over to him. By turning Diane against you, making out that you’re a bad son. You not turning up to the funeral is just the final touch to his portrait of you as some sort of…I dunno…unrepentant prodigal son.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference. He still gets the house.”

  “But you’ve got a chance to show them you’re not the man Widdowson has painted you out to be. Look, all you have to do is turn up. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have to join in with the singing. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. Walk into his church with your head held high…”

  “Stinking of booze.”

  “Stinking of booze. Be there. It will bother him, I know it.”

  “But we’re outnumbered.”

  “But we are never out-gunned.”

  She’d convinced him. He was three double whiskeys in and he didn’t care.

  “Okay.” He downed his fourth dram and slid off the bar stool. Before they left, he gently touched her arm. “You know, you look smashing in that dress.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a fine-looking woman.”

  She laughed. “How many have you had?”

  “I mean it.”

  “Thank you, Dan.” She leaned forwards and kissed him on the edge of his lips. He linked his arm. “Come on. They’ll think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Until we get to the church then I better give you back to Bev.”

  Dan was twelve when he’d last been in this chapel. Back then it had been a grey little place with an organ at the front and brown pews. The pews had been ripped out and the place repainted. There were individual chairs, and an overhead projector blasted the hymns onto a screen. The organ had gone and instead there was a band with a set of drums, a keyboard, bass and lead guitar, and three singers.

  The songs were all up tempo and anthemic. In his numbed state, he decided they sounded like something Gary Barlow or Coldplay would write. The bastard offspring of the two performers had found a home in this church. The congregation were singing along to this music as if enraptured. They had their hands in the air, eyes closed. Dan just sat. He didn’t sing. Alison stood and soberly mouthed the words and Bev sat next to him, looking uncomfortable.

  On entering she’d put her hand over his and asked if he was okay. He’d smiled sadly. As the service went on, he noticed Lindsey was moving her hips and crying out. She clearly didn’t like it here. He sat beside her and reached for her hand. He held it to let her know she wasn’t alone in this. She didn’t pull away and at one point she looked at him with her dark eyes as if registering that he was there for her. Or maybe it was the other way around, he thought.

  The most surreal thing about all this was the fact that at the foot of the stage lay the coffin on three trellises. After this show, she was due to be buried out in the churchyard in the back. Dan wasn’t sure he’d last that long as this was all making him deeply uncomfortable.

  The music stopped and Widdowson took to the stage like one of those televangelists from the States. Dan half expected him to get a round of applause.

  “Settle down, you noisy saints.” He took the microphone and the congregation took their seats. “Today is a great day. Today we celebrate the life of a faithful woman to our church. She is in Heaven right now, sitting at the right hand of God.”

  No, she’s not, thought Dan. She’s in a box about to hit the ground. He nearly laughed as he thought this.

  “Diane Hepworth was an exceptional woman who gave much to building the kingdom. She gave much to this church, both financially and practically.” He stepped forwards slightly to the edge of the stage. “In her will, she left her house to us, the church. Such was her dedication and love to this church that she left her home to us as she goes to her true home in Heaven. Amen.”

  The congregation echoed his amen and burst into a round of applause.

  You bastard, thought Dan. You really are rubbing it in.

  “Diane was blessed, there is no doubt about that. Her love for the Lord eclipsed everything else in this life. Her dedication to the word and her zeal were like a roaring fire, lighting this dark world. Yes, Diane was blessed. But she also bore her cross with grace and humility. Well, two crosses, actually. The first, her daughter, Lindsey. Born out of wedlock, as we all know, and punished for her sin by God.”

  Dan’s fists clenched. He would be having words with Widdowson after this service. Mainly expletives would be used.

  “The second cross was her son, Daniel. He is here with us and no one would deny that he was a difficult boy. Not even himself. But to abandon his mother and sister to go forth and live in sin in the cities of this world…well…”

  He was looking directly at Dan. Dan was glaring back at him.

  “But praise God! The prodigal son has returned. He is here with us today in the house of the Lord to worship with us. We are delighted to have you here today, son.”

  More clapping. Someone behind him patted his shoulder, one of Widdowson’s faithful. Dan wanted to snap the fucker’s hand off.

  “Perhaps, as Diane’s son, you would like to come to the stage and offer a few words. You are under no obligation to, and we will all understand if you are too overcome with emotion to speak.”

  Conflicting thoughts fired through his brain. He was no good at public speaking. He was not here to celebrate her life but to celebrate her death. Could he really stand up there and talk to all these people?

  To his surprise he found himself rising from his seat. He walked forwards, mounted the stage, and took the microphone from Widdowson like a particularly aggressive stand-up comedian. Was this really happening? He stood looking out at the now silent congregation. Some
he knew from school, a few he’d seen in the pub over the last couple of weeks. He looked to Widdowson and a dark, righteous anger overcame him.

  Sweat coated his hands, and the microphone felt slippery. He began to speak.

  “I would like to say a few words in honour of my mother,” he began. “However, there are no words to honour her. Truth be told, I wasn’t going to come today. And I’m not here to celebrate her life. I’m here to make sure she gets put in the ground and stays there.”

  Frowns from the congregation, some muttering could be heard.

  “Diane Hepworth was an abuser. When I was eight years old, I had to sleep with my hands tied behind my back so I wouldn’t commit the sin of onanism. Eight. Like I was gonna do that when I was eight. I remember having to walk to school with glass in my shoes and on Saturdays have holly leaves stuffed down my shirt so I could empathize with the sufferings of Christ. I remember being made to kneel on drawing pins for hours on end, having cold baths, and being locked in the shed when it was snowing as punishment for all sorts of trivial stuff. She never said she was sorry for any of this. She thought what she was doing was right and proper and Christian, and if that’s the sort of shit that gets you a place in Heaven, then fuck that. I have this to say to you. To hell with your God!”

  The congregation gasped at his blasphemy. Widdowson bounced up to the stage and tried to grab the microphone.

  “I’ve not finished yet. He…” Dan pointed at Widdowson. “…he knew this was going on. He encouraged it. He also used to have Lindsey down here in this chapel some nights doing fuck knows what to her. I know he’s got one over on a lot of you. Like I said, I’m not here today to celebrate Diane Hepworth’s life. I just want to see her buried and you know what, Scarsdale? If you had any sense, you’d bury this fucker with her today.” He pointed directly to Widdowson.

  He held the microphone out for Widdowson to take but dropped it just before he could grab it. It hit the floor with a whine of feedback.

  “You will pay for that. No one. no one, uses that kind of language in the house of God.”

  Dan was going to leave but instead took his seat again. Widdowson was furious and he relished seeing the pastor so angry that he was actually flustered. Most of the congregation around him shot him looks of disgust, but some, those Widdowson had blackmailed and manipulated, gave him knowing looks.

  When they all made their way out, one woman, a teacher at his school, grabbed his arms and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Lindsey, Bev, and Alison stayed to watch the coffin being lowered into the ground, but Dan left before the first shovel full of earth hit the lid.

  Lindsey

  Diane Hepworth watched her son walk awkwardly down the hill, the glass in his shoes making him tread carefully as he always should.

  That’s good, she thought. If a man walks carefully then he will think carefully. A child even more so. She knew he took the glass out when he got to school and put it back in just before he left to come home. She had to let him know she knew and devise a punishment for this disobedience. He would thank her for it one day. When he was a man.

  He was such a disobedient child at heart. But all children were. People are all sinners, children especially so. A child never has to be taught to lie or be deceitful. They are born in sin, and sin manifests itself in lies and wicked behaviour. Daniel could be taught, nurtured, disciplined. Lindsey could not. She was the real problem.

  Since Brendan had arrived Diane’s faith had increased from a slow burning flame to a raging inferno. Many things became clear under his teaching. Since he’d become pastor of the chapel a year ago, many of the backsliders and deadwood had left. Only a core of faithful believers remained, shining like beacons in this dark town. Pastor Widdowson was not afraid to tell the truth. He had been brutally honest with Diane since he’d arrived.

  He saw Lindsey for what she was, a child born out of holy wedlock and cursed by the Lord for her sin.

  Vincent, her husband, had destroyed Diane’s dreams of being a missionary one night after the Boys and Girls Brigade Barn Dance. She’d resisted at first but then had given in, too weak to fight him. As her burden grew, the Deacons of the Baptist chapel had pulled her aside and given her an ultimatum. Marry the man who did this to you or be expelled from the church to let Satan sift you like sand. She’d used more lowly means to get Vincent down the aisle when she’d threatened go to the police. They may not have believed her but Scarsdale was a small town, even smaller back in 1969. Vincent’s father was the Methodist minister and the scandal would have rocked his family. She was wed before the bump began to show. And Lindsey had been born the following year, damaged of mind and body, a punishment for Diane’s weakness.

  As Pastor Widdowson had so clearly pointed out, Lindsey could never be saved as she can never ask Jesus for forgiveness. Not only could she not speak, but she had the mind of an infant, a baby. The only way to salvation was to be born again, by repenting of your sin and asking for God’s forgiveness. She would never capable of that, so she would burn in Hell forever.

  Lindsey was Satan’s child. And Satan’s child attracts demons.

  It all made sense. The jerks, the fits, the crying out in the night. She was a vessel for demons. Brendan took it upon himself to exorcise her. So caring and compassionate was the pastor that he picked her up every Tuesday night and brought her back every Wednesday morning, having driven the demons out. But they came back. They always came back. The wriggling, the crying out continued. Brendan was determined to try one last time.

  She was washing up when she heard the car pull into the drive. Diane went out and waited by the door. Brendan got out of his new MG Metro as Jackie, the young nurse who sometimes worked at the hospital in New Scarsdale, lifted Lindsey out of the car and into the wheelchair.

  Lindsey was repeatedly making her noise.

  “…huh…huh…huh…huh…huh.”

  “You can shut that now,” snapped Jackie. “She was doing this in the car all the way here.”

  “Just get her inside, Jackie. I need to speak to Diane.” Brendan encircled Diane’s waist and ushered her into the house.

  As Jackie put Lindsey to bed, Brendan sat in the lounge and Diane prepared a pot of tea eager to hear how the deliverance had progressed. Lindsey’s grunts became screams as Jackie put her to bed. Diane heard Jackie yell for her to shut up followed by a slap. Diane was confident Jackie knew what she was doing.

  “So,” began Brendan, pouring himself a pot of tea. “I’ve been up all night trying to drive the demons out. I’m not sure I’ve been successful. As Lindsey is not, and can never be a Christian, I feel we are sweeping clean the house only for the demon to return with seven other demons.”

  “You are referring to…” Diane grabbed her Bible and began flicking through the pages. “…Luke 11 verse 24 to 26.”

  Widdowson took the Bible from her and read.

  “When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left. When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worst than the first.’ Lindsey will never be free of unclean spirits, Diane.”

  Diane swallowed. “I see.” A single tear fell from her right eye.

  “I have driven the demon out by making it unbearable to inhabit the body of the child. I’m afraid I’ve had to use extreme measures.” He took off his glasses and put a hand to his forehead as if concentrating. “I bound her body, held her down for hours as the demon writhed within her. I had to immerse her in freezing water but, you read the verse, other demons will come.”

  “There must be something we can do?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Make it unbearable for the demon to inhabit the body by causing discomfort to the vessel.” He moved beside her and put his arm around her shoulder
s. “Of all the torments I put the demon through, immersion in cold water gave the demon the most discomfort. Now, I am prepared to take Lindsey to the chapel and continue this treatment on a weekly basis. We can use the baptismal pool. I can do no more.”

  The intensity of Lindsey’s screams was so loud now it drowned out Jackie’s screeches for her to stop.

  “See. Even now the demons are entering her.”

  Diane knew it was true. Only this man, Brendan Widdowson, could stop Lindsey from becoming fully possessed. As Lindsey screamed, Diane knew she had much to thank God for.

  Twenty

  Dan couldn’t believe how good he felt when he returned to One Farm Road. His improvised eulogy had truly outraged Widdowson. Sometimes words are the best revenge, he reflected. Widdowson had not expected him to denounce his mother, and the pastor himself, with such a tirade. So confident was Widdowson that Dan would crumble given the choice, he’d even given Dan the platform to do it. Dan would never have thought he’d find such reserves of confidence and eloquence. He loathed the limelight normally and hated public speaking. He’d shocked himself with his outburst. The three or four whiskeys in the pub probably helped.

  The journey home had been silent but not awkward. He’d squeezed into the back of the adapted car with Lindsey. They’d left the Morris in the supermarket car park.

  Once home, he’d helped Alison hoist Lindsey back to bed so she could change her clothes and go straight to Willow House. Once alone in the room the both of them had sniggered which had burst the dam for full guffaws of laughter. Alison recounted the tirade and described the looks on people’s faces as they’d listened. She concluded by saying that he’d dented Widdowson’s reputation. A small but poignant victory.

  Alison left Lindsey who was giggling happily, knowing she was going to Willow House. Alison said she’d need to check on her father again, so Dan told her to take the car for as long as she needed. She’d kissed him on the cheek before she left.